


Soup

by FriendlyCybird



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cooking, First Dates, Food, Food Issues, Implied past emotional abuse, Jon being pessimistic, M/M, Martin's Broken Free of Forsaken, Martin's mom's Bullshit, New Relationship, a worrying amount of broccoli, accidental compulsion, childhood microtraumas, vampire metaphors, written post 142
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 13:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: A dinner out somewhere nice would have been the most obvious first date. Attempts to plan just that had nearly ended in an argument as Jon dismissed all of Martin's suggestions as either too unsophisticated or not intimate enough. Several were both.  Martin also dismissed all of Jon's suggestions, typically as too expensive despite the fact that Jon stated repeatedly he was willing to pay. Even a somewhat sappier than typical comment about Martin being worth it had failed to dissuade the other man's insistence on thrift."Well, our options are very nearly down to Fast Food or cooking at mine, and I'm not taking you to McDonalds on a Date." Jon had finally snapped.





	Soup

If someone had told Jon when they met that he would ultimately fall in love with Martin Blackwood, he wouldn't even have dignified it with a laugh. In fact, there'd been a time, however brief, he may have considered slapping someone for the suggestion. That was right about the same time it'd begun happening. Now, he was in love with Martin and Martin had finally come out of his isolation to establish that he still returned the feeling. 

A dinner out somewhere nice would have been the most obvious first date. Attempts to plan just that had nearly ended in an argument as Jon dismissed all of Martin's suggestions as either too unsophisticated or not intimate enough. Several were both. Martin also dismissed all of Jon's suggestions, typically as too expensive despite the fact that Jon stated repeatedly he was willing to pay. Even a somewhat sappier than typical comment about Martin being worth it had failed to dissuade the other man's insistence on thrift. 

"Well, our options are very nearly down to Fast Food or cooking at mine, and I'm not taking you to McDonalds on a Date." Jon had finally snapped. 

It hadn't been a serious suggestion , but Martin took to it instantly with the suggestion "I could cook." 

Jon answered with a heavy sigh. "No, I will. I said I'd treat and if that means cooking because we can't agree on a place then, well...my freezer's reasonably stocked, I'm sure I can put together something." 

Something, it turned out, was going to be a fairly large pot of soup. The best friend of the indecisive chef, as Jon couldn't imagine soup suffering from too much variety. At least in terms of vegetables. He was forced to choose between chicken and beef as mixing the two started to seem like a worse idea the more he thought about it. He eventually opted for the latter. A lot of chopping later and Jon had a full pot bubbling lowly under its lid while he stood at the end of the kitchen where he could see the front door, waiting. 

It was useless to watch the door. He wouldn't know Martin was there until he knocked, or at least he hoped he wouldn't. He'd set the table already, complete with a single white candle in the center that he hadn't lit for fear of it burning itself out before Martin arrived. Not exactly a rational fear as they'd agreed Martin should arrive at 6:30 and it was already a quarter after but - lingering paranoia tried to raise the question 'what if he doesn't come?'. Jon refused to give any credence to that paranoia, save for not lighting the candle. 

Martin was a slightly more than five minutes early, knocking at exactly 6:24 by Jon's clock. Of all the Awarenesses to filter through, the fact that Martin's watch had just clicked to 6:27 was possibly the strangest he could have gotten just then. It was enough to decide against joking about the time though. 

He opened the door enthusiastically, greeting "Martin! It's good to see you!" and stepping back to allow the other man to step inside. 

Martin glanced around some as he entered the flat. "It's...good to see you too." he said, a touch uncertainly. He smiled at Jon after a moment though, as Jon shut the door behind him.   
"Dinner's almost ready." he reported proudly. Then, with a gesture towards his small excuse for a dining table, he added "Table's set and everything." 

Martin made a sound that was mostly just pleased, with a note of amusement over the top. "It's lovely." he said, and Jon smiled. He couldn't help but take some small pride in making Martin sound so happy. Jon reached out carefully and rested his hand on Martin's waist, palm against his back, fingers curled around his side. The gesture pulled him closer to the other man, which he didn't mind in the slightest. Then Jon guided Martin just the few steps to the table. 

"Anything I could help with?" Martin asked, innocently enough but it still felt as though he'd prodded Jon somewhere sensitive. 

Jon gave himself the space of a breath to not snap, and instead tried to reassure. "No, no, I've got it. Just...have a seat and enjoy dinner once I bring it over." Martin settled in at the table and Jon didn't miss the fond look he gave the unlit candle. He wondered, in the way one wonders and quickly dismisses convoluted emotional things, if Martin had any idea why it was still unlit. Then he went back to check on the soup. 

His grandmother had always skimmed the bits of fat that rose to the surface of a pot of soup right off and thrown them away. Georgie, on the other hand, had been horrified by this practice when Jon mentioned it and insisted you stir it back in to make the soup richer unless there was a lot of it in which case you skim a little but - while this was hardly the time to be thinking about an ex, Jon had always preferred Georgie's soup to his grandmother's, so he took the spoon and gave it a good stir. The mostly green mixture with bursts of colour turned in the broth under the spoon and Jon was fairly certain it was ready. 

He turned off the burner and then bent to pull out the loaf of bread he'd left warming in the oven. A bread knife from the drawer and he carried that over first. "It's just a tiger loaf but - well, soup usually needs that something extra to go with it." Something passed over Martin's expression that Jon couldn't identify, and Jon responded based on his first instinct. "I know, warming a loaf of bread isn't exactly cooking, but I promise, the soup is entirely homemade." He didn't pause to get the confirmation that had addressed whatever that look had been, instead turning again to retrieve the pot. 

He carried the pot over to the table and set it on the pad he had waiting for it between the candle and the wall beside the table. Another good reason to have not lit the candle yet, he realised. A beat later he realised he had not lit the candle yet and a glance at Martin's disappointed expression told him he ought to remedy that as soon as possible. He held up a finger and turned slightly to run back to the kitchen for a matchbook when he remembered his lighter. 

It was only out of his pocket for a moment. Used, replaced, and quickly forgotten about again as the small flame flickered between them and Jon finally sat back down. He took a breath to collect himself and looked at Martin who, at the very least, was smiling. It looked just forced enough that Jon found himself apologising. "I'm sorry, I feel a bit scattered at the moment - I haven't...cooked for anyone in...well, for a bit longer than it's been since I was last on a date so you can imagine..." 

Martin's smile brightened a bit. "It's okay," he said. His voice was warm, kind, and reassuring and when Jon looked at him for an instant he felt himself fall in love all over again. The next instant he was aware of the painful cliche he had just experienced and blushed slightly, looking away as Martin added "I'm a bit nervous too." Then he laughed a bit, sounding more nervous then he claimed and added a clarification "More than a bit, actually." 

"Don't be." Jon said, fully reassured. He went for the serving spoon and filled first Martin's bowl, then his own. When he looked at Martin again, something had changed in his expression. Jon didn't have time to place it before Martin caught him looking and smiled again, brightly, naturally. Still nervous but - 

"It smells delicious." Martin said after a moment. "Thank you." 

Jon scooped up a spoonful and tried it. It was good. Not as good as Georgie's or even his grandmother's but more than passable by his own tastes. Maybe a little under seasoned, although Jon realised then he wasn't actually sure how much salt Martin liked with his food, or really much about Martin's taste in food at all. He was familiar with Martin's tastes in plenty of other areas but somehow the one most closely tied to low-pressure dating had escaped him. Of course, when had anything about his dynamic with Martin been low-pressure? He'd certainly put an end to that early on, and regretted it now. 

A first date was hardly the time to dwell on that, so instead he simply watched Martin for a reaction. Unfortunately, he didn't get one. He couldn't tell if Martin had taken a bite or not. The spoon moved, stirring at the soup and up and down once but there was no indication he'd tried it. No praise, no barley concealed disgust, not even a look of consideration. Just the slight, forced smile that hovered just at the edge of unsettling without actually becoming so. 

Jon couldn't stop the little huff of annoyance that escaped him, any more than he could have stopped the Question that followed. "Are you alright, Martin?" 

"No." The speed and forthrightness of the answer startled Jon, and seemed to startle Martin as well. Something in the air between them seemed to twist as Martin kept going. "I'm - more upset than I should be and I'm sorry I just..." He made a noise that was desperately trying to be a laugh. "One time, years ago, Tim was doing a lunch run for some of us" Jon flinched at the sudden mention. Martin didn't seem to notice. "This was before...before the Archives even. Anyway, I gave him some money and mentioned the salad I wanted, and he asked if I wanted the soup - I said no, because I'd..." that sound again, trying so hard to be a laugh and failing. "The longest I'd gone without soup in the first quarter century of my life was the eight months before I was on solid food as a baby and I thought I'd earned some distance." 

Jon found himself making a similar sound, even as something began to feel very wrong. It was funny, a joke that Tim had no doubt appreciated. Martin continued. "It's ridiculous though, to just...stop eating soup, isn't it? Like, all soup. Soup's a lot of different food. We've got...this...delicious vegetable beef right here, and it is delicious, Jon, thank you. But there's...soups with barley, or rice, or I mean chowder is practically an entirely different -" he stopped suddenly, and Jon felt something pull at him. 

"Mmm?" he prompted, gently, a vague need for Martin to continue manifesting and acting before he could account for it. 

"Mom made soup." Martin said after a longer than comfortable pause. "Not often, even when I was little, she was too sick. We didn't know it until I was a bit older but - she'd get so tired by the end of the day. So, make a pot of soup on the weekend. It'd feed the three of us three or four nights that week. She kept it up once dad was gone but...it wasn't long before it fell to me. So, I have made a lot of soup and eaten most of it myself because she - well, her illness played havoc with her appetite. Some nights she'd have a whole bowl and ask for seconds and some she'd - well, do what I'm doing, barley pick at it." 

Something about Martin's voice, maybe the cadence it had fallen into, was soothing to Jon. Felt good, as warm and comforting as the soup. It was when he paused for a beat there, that sudden shift in mood as Martin seemed to briefly fall out of his rhythm that Jon felt struck by a too-familiar feeling. "I'm not sick though! It's not - it's definitely not that, at all." He assured, and even as the assurance came, Jon realised how far it was from the one he needed. 

Martin sighed heavily, and fell back into it. "It's...hard though. Cooking for less people than you're use to. It's an adjustment. After mom went to the home I was forever catching myself making an extra serving. Everything. Sandwiches, salads, Even cuts of meat, I'd make two and end up just packing the other one in with me to work. Soup was the worst offender though. I was having leftover soup nearly every day and it... I'd get home and...have all sorts of time to cook or do whatever because she wasn't...there...to take care of anymore? Except of course I wouldn't do anything with that time because there was soup in the fridge and I was tired anyway -" he paused, then added "You don't think about how exhausting it can be to be sad, even when it's happening to you. But then, some nights I'd had enough and...I made something for myself anyway. And then I had...well, it was a really good week." He paused, a smile suddenly tugging at the corner of his mouth and Jon felt his stomach drop. 

Jon knew that expression. He knew just what it looked like when someone recovered an unexpected detail of a memory, when they made a connection they couldn't otherwise have made. It didn't usually look so happy but it was unmistakable regardless. "It was that week you came to me, actually. You had that case with the dog whose owner insisted it was psychic. Smart dog, not psychic, but we stayed late twice discussing essays on psi abilities in animals. We had that argument about... Robert Lyle Morris, I think. Remember?" 

Jon just nodded. He should use the opportunity to interrupt, to cut Martin off, to stop this, undo what he'd accidentally done, but he felt powerless even as he felt a rush of power. It was mild. What Martin was telling him only really had personal significance and was utterly mundane but that feeling was still there. Pulling knowledge from someone, learning, Knowing. 

He remembered that week well enough. Remembered getting fed up with the pile of textbooks on Martin's desk that seemed to double every time he tried to have a conversation with him. Remembered thinking that Martin's sudden attachment to the dog in question was unhealthy and a bit creepy. The way Martin always referred to the dog by its name, Blue? perhaps? Was endearing in hindsight but at the time had felt confusing and unnecessary. An entirely separate pang struck Jon, knowing now that Martin had considered that an uncommonly good week. 

"I had a pot of soup in the fridge. Barely touched it the whole week. Then the weekend came and I crashed, hard. Went to heat up the soup and..." he paused and shuddered. Then gestured vaguely toward the pot on the table. "Bit of advice? Don't let that go bad. It's got onion and when you let something with onion turn -" he shuddered again. "Like...I'm sure there are worse smells, and I count myself lucky to have not experienced any of them personally but... for the sake of your kitchen if not your nose, try to get through that pot before it goes." 

Martin paused, sighed a bit, and continued "Anyway, once I got done being sick from getting that thrown out I was...a bit reasonably put off soup for a bit? Six months later though I thought, well, this is getting a bit out of hand I'll just...pick up a nice can of soup on the way in to work and have it for lunch." He paused, then "Got lunch with Sasha that day. And the day after, Matt did a run to that place with the salads I like and...well, anyway, the can sat in my bag for a week before I finally gave it to...oh... that girl who worked in reception for a while? She didn't stay long, she was really struggling with some...health stuff, I think?" he paused and then sighed. "Yeah, I haven't had soup since, 'til now. So..." another sigh "I'm sorry." 

Martin was finished. Jon breathed a sigh of relief and, unfortunately, contentment. "No." he said firmly with his next breath. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for." 

"But I -" Martin started, then cut himself suddenly. Jon saw realisation dawn on his face and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and stay there. "Oh...was that..." Jon nodded, just slightly. "Oh. I...didn't realise you could do that about -" 

"I can make people tell me anything." Jon stated, voice flat and hard with just a hint of self-loathing. "It's...less satisfying if it's not...fear." he shuddered slightly, as he often did when he considered the ramifications of his power. He tried not to do it often, but this was a situation that called for it if any did. "But...it's still knowledge. Information, and, if I'm not mistaken, some degree of trauma." 

"I mean I wouldn't call it trauma..." Martin dismissed.

Jon shook his head. "Whatever it is, I was wrong to pull it out of you. I'm sorry." 

Martin blew out a hard breath, then "I'm...sorry I have so much...baggage around..." he snorted slightly "Dinner. This isn't how I wanted our date to go, I'll...try a bit more of the soup and...maybe take a larger portion of the bread?" 

It was like someone had flipped a switch in Jon's mind, and the perfect solution sprang, fully-formed, into his thoughts. "Absolutely not." he replied. Martin startled, and Jon realised belatedly that had come out harsher than he'd intended. Rather than backpedaling, he pushed that harshness into his actions, standing suddenly and grabbing Martin's bowl with one hand and dumping it back into the pot while he leaned in and blew out the candle in the same motion. Then he returned his own bowl to the pot and carried it back to the stove. 

"Jon?" Martin called after him, confused. Jon opened the cupboard beside his oven and, after a moments digging, pulled a frying pan from it and set that on the back burner. Then he took a breath and glanced around. He knew what he was going to do, just not how he was going to do it. He had to plan this out, step-by-step. Ideally, with minimal dishes to do afterwards. 

He startled when he realised Martin was standing beside him, then breathed "Martin," as he calmed. He gestured vaguely at the stove top. "I- I'm going to fix this." 

"Fix what?" Martin asked. "The soup, or the fact that you used your Archivist powers on me?" 

Jon winced at Martin's tone. "The soup, primarily." He answered "I...I'd like to fix...the other but..." he trailed off, and rather than starting up again, was struck by inspiration. He hurried around the kitchen, gathering a colander, a large bowl, a measuring cup, a funnel, and a bag of rice. Supplies gathered, he stopped to breathe, and look at Martin. 

Martin looked nothing so much as confused. That was certainly understandable. He had to be sure there wasn't something else there. Something that might lead to resentment. "Are you..." he began after a bit. "You're not -" he cut off, not sure how to end that sentence, and instead rephrasing "I didn't...hurt you?" His voice turned up, a question without a question. Just to be safe. 

"What? No!" Martin reassured, so quickly that Jon didn't believe him. His expression must have said as much because Martin quickly added "At least, I don't think so. I'm fine." Jon just looked at him another moment. "Really." Martin insisted. "I got...a bit more vulnerable than I wanted to. That's all. I'm immune to the nightmares because I...technically am still attached to the Archives? I think? I mean I don't imagine I could leave..." he paused, then "I don't even know what nightmares about soup would look like." He blinked and added "That would just be weird but - Jon, it was an accident. Whatever you're doing, don't - " he paused, breathed, then "You don't have to...feel guilty or...or anything. Honestly. I'm fine." 

Jon was less than totally reassured. At the very least though Martin was stable enough that pushing farther would be useless at best. Instead he dropped the subject, said simply "Alright," and turned his attention to the stove top. The colander came first. Right into the large bowl. Once that was set Jon held his breath and hoped that this would work before grabbing the pot and dumping the entirety of the soup into the colander and, in turn, the broth into the bowl. 

"Jon, what..." Martin started. He didn't finish, instead just watching in confusion as Jon pulled the frying pan forward. That riddle about the three animals on different points of the food chain on the bank of a river and a boat that only seats two sprang to mind, earning a wry smile as he shook out the contents of the half-full colander and dumped them in the frying pan. Martin started again. "Jon, what are you doing?" 

He sounded more incredulous than confused at this point and Jon couldn't help but flash a brief, slightly manic grin. "You can't have soup," he started, before picking up and opening the bag of rice and gesturing with it. "I'll make it something else." Then he began measuring out two cups of dry rice and dumping it in still-damp pot. 

"I wouldn't say I can't..." Martin protested. "Jon, I'd have eaten the soup, you didn't...don't..." Martin huffed and nearly snapped "Whatever it is you're doing it isn't _ necessary_." 

"I think it is." Jon returned. He considered turning to reach out to Martin. To touch him. To reassure. Instead he found one of his hands carefully holding the funnel over the measuring cup and the other very carefully lifting the large bowl of broth. He continued speaking anyway, even though it was probably a very bad idea and he really should be focusing. "I think, part of this relationship, of any relationship, is looking out for and taking care of one another. I made..." he was pouring broth through the funnel explicitly so it wouldn't spill. So when the measuring cup suddenly overflowed Jon stopped pouring as quickly as he could and set the bowl back down. "A series of mistakes, really." 

Martin was already in motion toward Jon's paper towes. "I'd say so," he agreed. "Is your kitchen always this much of a disaster when you cook?" 

"It's usually worse." Jon admitted "Honestly it's probably cleaner than it's been in months." 

"That's disgusting." Martin returned, although he seemed to have figured out at least this step of Jon's plan and dumped the broth into the pot with the rice when he lifted the measuring cup to clean the counter underneath it. He gently reached out when he was done, pushing Jon aside with his elbow while also handing him the soaked paper towels. "Toss those, I'll measure out the broth." 

Jon obeyed, moving quietly over to the trash can on the other side of his small kitchen. "Alright," he agreed as he went, then added "It's three -"

"Three cups for each cup of rice, I know." Martin snapped. Jon winced again and Martin sighed as he set the bowl and funnel down after filling the measuring cup without spilling. "Not sure why you thought you should make two cups of rice though, that's going to be a lot." 

Jon made a small noise of protest. "All you said about leftovers," 

"I specifically advised you _ against _ too many leftovers!" Jon winced again and Martin sighed as he started setting up to pour more broth into the measuring cup. "I'm...sorry." he said after a moment and Jon closed his eyes. It seemed whatever Martin said, they weren't done with the subject. 

"You're angry." he observed. 

Martin was silent as he filled the measuring cup and poured it into the pot. Then, rather than responding to the observation, he calmly mentioned "I'm not sure you have six full cups of broth here." 

"I was going to use water for the rest." Jon explained, then repeated. "You're angry with me." 

Martin set down the funnel and turned around. "Yes, Jon, I'm angry. There, are you happy?" 

"Obviously not, my-my-my _ ** Boyfriend **_ is Angry with me." He paused. He shouldn't have paused and he continued as quickly as he could. "And justifiably so! I...I can't...make it up to you I just want to...try." 

"I'm not angry about the compulsion." 

Jon startled, confused. "Th-then what..." 

"We were set down to a perfectly nice dinner. That bread looks delicious and the soup is - was. Fine. I was fine. Then you went and..." he grumbled a little, Jon couldn't tell if there were words under it or not. "That. And I was still fine! Better, even, now I'd talked it out. That part's actually healthy, I think. Or. Would have been if I'd...kept the illusion of it..." he sighed and shook his head. "I'm angry that you told me. I'm angry that you...got all guilty and played the victim of your own abilities. It's..." he shuffled a bit and turned around, setting up the funnel again and grabbing the bowl. 

"It's...?" Jon prompted. 

Martin finished filling the measuring cup. The silence was weighted, but not in the way of someone delaying starting their statement. The moments didn't ache. At least not in that way. As Martin poured the broth into the pot he answered. "It's something I do. And I expected better of you." 

Jon laughed, a hallow little sound. "You. Expected better? Of me?" he laughed again, just as empty. "Martin...Martin think of who you're talking to. I've been...nothing but awful to you at...any point, really. I have no idea why you lo-" he stopped, and caught himself. That wasn't a word they had said out loud yet. He backpedaled. "Why you...feel the way you do for me. I'm not -" 

"You're doing it again." Martin interrupted. "You're...apologising and you're...self-blaming and...it has to stop. Jon. It...just has to." Martin had turned around as he spoke and now, leaning against the oven, he blew a sigh out through his nose. "As long as you hate yourself, you can justify doing these things. You're a monster, you do horrible things, you just try to do the best you can. You need to do better, Jon! I needed...to do better, that's how I got free. That's why I'm not...isolated in some vacant corner of Forsaken clacking away doing busywork at a keyboard under the delusion that I'm keeping you safe! I don't want this...guilt rice or whatever you're planning with all this." 

"It's not guilt rice!" Jon snapped "It's...Martin, I'm not...I don't feel _ guilty_." Martin huffed a bit, pressing his hands onto the counter behind him. Jon took a moment to calm himself. He couldn't read Martin's expression, or his posture. Though he expected annoyance and, for once, he couldn't meet that with annoyance. "I'm...concerned, yes. I know I've hurt you. Today and in the past and I...I want to stop." 

"I'm not just talking about me you know." Martin sounded outright petulant, and Jon needed a much deeper breath to calm himself. It didn't help that Martin continued. "I know a lot more about the things you've done than you might think, and I'm not happy about a lot of it." 

Part of Jon wanted to ask how Martin knew. Demand to hear whatever Martin had learned. For a moment he could feel the compelling question on the tip of his tongue, and then he recoiled. He hadn't just almost done that, had he? - Regardless, it was obvious, in its way. Martin worked for the Institute as well, a stronghold of Beholding. of course he would learn things unexpectedly. He stayed quiet for several moments, and so did Martin. Jon finally broke the silence with an unrelated question. "What was that, four cups of broth?" 

Martin stiffened and shuffled aside, allowing Jon access to the stove top again. "Yeah." he answered. "Two more. Bowl's nearly empty though." Jon stepped forward and looked. Sure enough, there was only a thin layer of broth in the bottom of the bowl. He sighed a bit and took the measuring cup to the sink. Two trips back and forth, adding water to the pot. When he turned again to shut off the tap, Martin stepped in and did it for him. They were standing much closer than they had been since Jon had touched him when he arrived. Not quite so close that Jon could feel his breath, but close enough to tempt him to close the space that remained. "Jon -" Martin began.

"I know." Jon answered. "I know I...yes." he sighed and admitted "I've done things that weren't...in any way good. You...you don't want to hear how I _feel_ about that, I'm sure, but it's still something we should talk about." Martin opened his mouth to respond and Jon cut him off. "But not tonight." His tone had gone pleading enough, may as well take it all the way. "Please, Martin. Tonight I just..." Perhaps it could be considered manipulative that he reached out then. That he took Martin's hand. He told himself it was just that he wanted to touch him, but there was no way to be sure of his own intentions anymore. "It's cliche, but I wanted tonight to be perfect. That's obviously long gone, but I want to at least make it something good. I want to make you dinner - a dinner that doesn't remind you of...anything. I want to make new memories and -" he paused, and managed a smile, gesturing at the mess on the stove with his free hand "if I have to do that from the scraps of the bad ones, I will." 

Martin softened, and then smiled. "I'm honestly not even sure what you're doing. I mean, I get the using the broth to cook the rice in, that's actually really clever. I wish I'd thought of it." 

Jon grinned at him then, the tension draining out of him at Martin's smile. At his complement. "Oh, that's not all I'm doing. You noticed the frying pan?" 

"Well, it's sort of just...there, isn't it?" Jon made no move to respond, not taking that as an actual answer. Martin rolled his eyes. "Yes, I noticed. That's still an awful lot of rice, Jon."

"It was a lot of soup too." Jon defended. "I'm just trying to keep it proportional." Martin still looked skeptical, but lightly so. A gentler look then the one he'd had on the more serious topic. "I'll bring leftovers in to share tomorrow at work." 

"Leftovers of _What?_" Martin demanded playfully.   
Jon just smiled at him. "You'll see. I can't wait until you figure it out." He turned on the stove under the pot and dumped the meat and vegetables from the pan back into the bowl and sort of swished the bowl around to get them re-coated with the thin layer of broth from the bottom. 

The truth was, he didn't actually know what he was doing. Sure he had a goal in mind, but the steps from here to there were a bit blurry. Did he need an egg? There were eggs in the fridge. Maybe he'd wait until he got a look at it and decide then. Martin's concern about the volume of leftovers came from a place of experience, and was a much easier concern to swallow than the others. 

Martin stood at his shoulder, watching with interest, but there wasn't much to watch at the moment. "Well," Jon commented, stepping back. "I suppose that's it until the rice cooks. How would you like to pass the time?" Martin blinked at him in surprise, then turned to look again at the stove. 

"Oh!" he cried suddenly, stepping back. "Oh, I'm an idiot! Frying Pan. You're going to _Fry_ the rice! I - how did I miss that?" 

Jon chuckled a little, pleased with the overall turn in mood. He couldn't resist teasing "I mean, you're the one who said it-" 

Martin glared at him, but there was no heat in it. He smiled again only a moment later. "I suppose you could show me around? I mean, I haven't seen much more than -" he paused and gestured vaguely toward the table. "This room?" 

"Ah." Jon responded, then nodded, placing the lid on the pot and stepping away. "Well, let's do that then." He reached out again as he half-turned toward Martin, mostly expecting to take his hand. Martin stepped forward though, so his hand instead came to rest on Martin's lower back, thumb fitting neatly around his side at the waist. 

He guided Martin like that first toward the table then around the corner into the cramped front hall, and around another corner toward the living room. Jon was struck by how empty it looked from the hall. He'd never done anything with this side of the room, you could see the corner of his desk. He breathed a quiet thanks for his own personal panic-driven tidying that afternoon, as the papers, pens, notebooks, important mail and texts that typically covered his entire desk were organised and put away and the various knickknacks on the coffee table were arranged reasonably pleasantly. Though Martin wouldn't see that for another moment. 

The next thing visible, Jon realised as they took the very few steps needed to approach were his diplomas. Perhaps it was a bit silly to have all three of them above his desk, but in some ways it was the High School one he remained most proud of as the period he'd gotten that one in had been by far the most tumultuous of the three. If Martin commented it'd be only fair to share that story, but he couldn't help but hope he wouldn't. 

When they approached the newly clean coffee table came into view just after the trio of bookshelves that sat where Jon's limited experience with other people's homes suggested most would keep an entertainment center, or at least a television. Beside the desk and across the coffee table from the sofa that sat against the opposite wall. None of that was properly visible until they'd passed the turnoff toward the bedroom. Once they crossed the threshold onto the dark-coloured carpet Jon announced "Well, this...this is the living room." He hesitated then and added "It occurs to me now that there's not very much to show." He gestured back to the turn off and indicated "The restroom's straight back there and my ah, my bedroom is to the left." 

"Ah." Martin echoed, nodding slightly. "...Be a bit much to ask to see that on the first date, wouldn't it?" Jon flushed and stammered briefly and Martin laughed. A genuinely happy sound that Jon couldn't help but be proud of despite it largely being at his expense. "No assumptions, Jon. It's alright if I never see it." 

Well, that changed Jon's mood on a dime. Martin was noticeably caught off-guard by the sudden serious expression Jon fixed him with. "No." he said, firmly. More firmly than the situation called for. "No, I'll show you. Right now." He dropped his hand from Martin's side and caught his hand with it instead, then turned and led him back toward the turnoff. 

Jon didn't remember until after they'd crossed the threshold into his bedroom that he hadn't made his bed. Of course he hadn't, he'd been busy with other parts of the house. Parts he'd actually expected Martin to see. Thankfully, his room was otherwise more or less clean. It'd been a while since he'd vacuumed and he'd been switching between three different books to unwind for the last few weeks as he'd found his already lacking attention span deteriorating. The books were stacked fairly neatly on his nightstand, although he noticed with a grimace he had not left them stacked according to height and they looked like nothing so much as an upside down pyramid. 

That wasn't what Martin noticed. 

"You have a TV?!" 

"...yes?" Jon hadn't been expecting that reaction. 

Martin tore his gaze away from the small, old fashioned TV set and its built in VCR player to take in the rest of the room, then looked back at Jon. "Why don't you keep it in the living room?" 

Jon shrugged. "Not exactly a living room set." he commented, then he admitted "I've had it in my bedroom...almost constantly since I was a teen. The uh -" he paused then explained "When I can't sleep, putting in a video can get me out of my head enough that..."   
Martin nodded. "I generally use podcasts for that." 

Jon shrugged and gestured toward the wall beside his bed. "You'll notice I'm a bit...lacking in electrical outlets on this side of the room. In fact, my bedroom only has the one."   
"Seriously?" 

Jon shrugged. "I was in a bit of a hurry to find a new place, and there's plenty outlets in the living room." 

Martin nodded, then hesitated, and a note of awkwardness began to settle over them. Jon refused it, sitting instead on the edge of his bed and gesturing for Martin to join him. He did, and the pink tint spreading out from the bridge of his nose was endearing. "Thank you." he said after a moment.

Martin blinked. "For what?" 

"For coming over tonight." Jon said. Then "For...well. For coming back to me, I suppose." 

Martin's smile turned sad. "Yeah..." he said softly. "Yeah, I'm glad I did too." he took a breath then "It was scary, for a minute you know? The idea of...trying to talk to you again. Then when I did...there you were. Waiting for me." 

"I'd missed you." Jon admitted. "I was worried. When you came back it was..." he stopped abruptly, because Martin had just taken hold of his hand and squeezed and Jon felt an intense emotion block his throat and he looked at Martin. Then he squeezed his hand back and said, a bit more breathless than he'd realised "I want to make the most of this." 

Martin's blush darkened and his smile turned a bit shy, but he kept his eyes on Jon for a long beat before asking "Is that why you brought me in here?" Jon blinked, and Martin stammered "I-I-mean...because you just suddenly got all...you know, when I said..." 

It was amusing. Martin was adorable when he got like this but Jon opted to spare him. "Exactly." he admitted. Then "...I don't like the idea of never. Not when it comes to things we want." 

"All I meant was you don't have to." Martin answered. "If it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to be here." 

"I'm not uncomfortable." Jon replied. Then "...I mean...I wish I'd made the bed and...stacked my books correctly..." at mentioning that out loud he leaned over toward the nightstand and rearranged the pile, earning an amused noise from Martin that cut right through him in the best way. When he sat back he took Martin's hand again and squeezed lightly. "They looked like they were about to fall over!" he justified. 

"They...didn't, but I see why you'd say that." Martin still sounded amused and, again, while it was at his expense Jon found he liked that. "I've actually had a pile of books tip over like that. Turns out, you shouldn't put a textbook on top of a biography on top of a paperback novel, and then try to set one of those coffee table books on top of it? Bad idea. Basic engineering failure." 

Jon huffed in amusement and shook his head. "At least it was only four books. Really I ought to have learned my lesson about stacking books in order of interest decades ago." 

"Mmm," Martin considered. "Why do I feel like there's a story there?" 

"Several." Jon agreed. "They all end the same way. Well, nearly the same. Only one instance of a cracked spine." Martin blinked and Jon didn't feel he had to clarify but did anyway "The book. One of the books." 

Martin nodded. "I thought so. Seems it'd be a bigger deal otherwise." 

"You'd think." Jon agreed and then at Martin's look he huffed again, annoyance rising. "I haven't actually cracked my spine, Martin. Honestly, you're becoming as bad as I am." 

Martin laughed slightly and shook his head. "If it helps I didn't actually think it. I mean, besides thinking that, you know, it's possible. You're obviously alright now though so...so that's a plus." Jon hummed slightly, considering, mind wandering a bit. He came back when Martin squeezed his hand again and when he looked at the other man, at his boyfriend, well, his heart may have skipped a beat just then. Martin was just looking at him, holding his gaze now and Martin's thumb was moving distractedly along the edge of his hand. He wanted to speak, to keep from lapsing into silence, but he couldn't think of anything. Martin beat him to it. "You're worried." It wasn't an accusation, or even a question. Just an observation, presented without judgement. 

Jon still reacted defensively, withdrawing his hand even though he didn't want to. "What makes you say that?" 

"I mean -" Martin paused, and smiled almost teasingly "I'm not sure there's been a time since we've known each other you weren't at least a little worried." 

"Actually, that's mostly just around you," Jon teased back. "What with the touching things without thinking and not always looking where you're going..." Martin huffed and lightly shoved at Jon's shoulder and Jon laughed, then calmed. He considered for a moment, reaching out to take Martin's hand again. Martin squeezed his hand encouragingly and Jon admitted "...but yes, I'm worried." 

"About our future?" 

The question drove all the humor from Jon, though he still made a noise like another laugh in response. "That's just it." he said "I don't believe we have one." 

"What do you mean?" Martin asked. "I'm not going anywhere. So unless you're planning something stupid again..." 

"I don't have a lot of options that aren't stupid, Martin." Jon commented. "In fact, I don't have any. You said I can do better, and you're right, I absolutely can. I should watch what I say around people I care about and not..." he sucked in a breath "Not...feed from you? I suppose?" 

"You don't _ have_ to make yourself sound like a vampire." Martin commented, tone still teasing but there was something more serious under it. 

Jon shrugged, glad that, if nothing else, Martin was still holding his hand. "I sort of am like one though, aren't I? Come up and just. Suck the stories right out of people, leave them the worse for wear. I mean I doubt my ah, actions have outright killed anyone but." he shrugged again, looking at Martin helplessly. 

"Couldn't you just...not? though? You're not a vampire, you're human." 

"I'm The Archivist." Jon corrected. He paused then "I haven't... vampires aren't my favorite metaphor, but I have to assume at least one author has approached the fact that they would starve if they didn't...get blood from somewhere." 

Martin nodded. "...and you can get stories from the statements in the archive. I know it's probably not as good but..." 

Jon nodded as well. "Yes, that's a good plan. I'm not always in The Archive though. and when I'm not that's when I need..." he hesitated, then "I need...to be at full capacity. Not subsisting on...paper." Martin looked at him a moment, seemingly prepared to say something. Jon cut him off. "I'm not trying to justify what I did to you today, of course not. Just-" he sighed and squeezed Martin's hand. "This is what I mean though, isn't it? I can either become something you hate or..." he paused, shrugged, and added "Or I can starve." 

Martin sighed heavily. "It's not really that bleak, is it?" 

Jon nodded. "I'm afraid it is. That's why I want to make the most of the moment. Before I- well, before I do something you can't forgive." 

Then Martin was looking at him again, and Jon was caught off guard by his expression. Warm, open admiration and affection and he'd seen Martin looking at him like that before. Caught glimpses of it for years, really. Wasted years ignoring that look. The difference now was that a smile was tugging at the corner of Martin's mouth and it was - Jon felt pleasantly warm just looking at him. Then Martin said "I can't imagine that." 

"No?" Jon responded, surprised, then he huffed a bit. "I can." 

Martin made a considering noise. "I'm not sure if you're overestimating my moral compass or underestimating my ability to forgive." Martin paused and leaned in rather unexpectedly. He pressed his lips low on Jon's cheek, by the corner of his mouth. He only lingered a second before pulling back, just a little though, and adding "Especially you." 

Well, there was just nothing to say to that, was there? Of course, Jon didn't believe it for a second. Whatever lies he'd told or weaknesses he had, Martin was fundamentally a good person and sooner or later Jon would irreversibly cross a line in service to The Eye. Right now though, he apparently hadn't yet. Right now, Martin was leaning in, hovering inches away from him with a small smile that was equal parts irritating and enticing. There was only one thing to do about that, then. 

Jon closed the space between them, lips falling against Martin's softer ones. Martin had seen the motion and turned his head, just slightly, so their noses nestled comfortably next to each other as Jon pressed in, squeezing Martin's hand with one hand and reaching for him with the other, resting his hand on the juncture between Martin's neck and shoulder, fingers curling up and around so his fingertips rested in a row down the entire back of his neck. 

Martin's lips shifted slightly so his upper lip was rested on Jon's lower and Jon parted and closed his lips in a toothless nip. Neither made any move to open their mouths or involve anything but their lips but the kiss deepened all the same as Martin's hand rested on Jon's elbow and they stayed like that for several moments, making only slight, soft movements. 

Finally, Martin pulled back with a short gasp and Jon remembered that it was necessary to breathe and they just looked at each other for a moment longer before Jon nearly whispered "I wish I'd seen you sooner." 

"Noticed." Martin corrected lightly. "The word you're looking for is noticed." 

Jon turned his hand to playfully tap Martin's shoulder with three fingers before withdrawing farther and rolling his eyes a little. "Noticed. Seen. Stopped being an ass and paid attention, it's all the same." 

Martin shrugged and smiled and closed the distance between them again, but this time just to lean on Jon, resting his head on his shoulder, and Jon wrapped an arm around the other man's back and reaching to curl his hand around Martin's waist. They stayed like that for a while in silence before Martin commented "I still can't believe you have a TV in your room." 

"Serves the same purpose as a nightlight, but more effective and less childish." Jon defended. "Besides, waking up to quiet static...helps." 

"I'm not judging." Martin clarified, but there was still amusement in his voice. "I'm just surprised, that's all." 

Jon huffed a little and squeezed Martin just a little closer. "Well, what did you expect to find in my room?" 

Martin considered, leaning his head a bit harder into Jon's shoulder. "More books, actually? It looked like all the books on your shelves were hardcover, so I thought maybe you kept the paperbacks in here?" 

Jon hummed slightly, considering. "I think I own about twenty paperbacks total? They're all on the bottom shelf nearest the wall. Most of my books are large hardcovers." 

"Why would you keep paperbacks on the bottom shelf? They're smaller." 

"I also read them less." Jon paused, then added "Which, really, means almost never. I don't re-read things very often. The books are..." he trailed off, considering, wondering if that was something he ought to share with Martin or not. 

Martin took the decision out of his hands. "I get it." he said. "Books are comforting. Sometimes as a kid I'd go to the library and just...sit in the stacks. Not even read anything, just browse titles on the bottom couple shelves for hours. Sometimes it even helped." 

Jon chuckled slightly. "I feel like you and I have very different relationships to books." 

"I think you and I are just very different." Martin responded. Then, a moment later, he reached an arm around Jon and squeezed as well. "Which is a good thing because I am...so far from my own type it's..." 

"_I think _," Jon interjected "The idea of having a type is a myth. I can't find a single common thread between the people I've been interested in." 

Martin snorted. "Lucky you. Having a distinct type is the worst." 

Jon pulled back to look at him a little. "I fit into your distinct type?" 

Martin straightened his head and nodded. "Perfectly. Actually, you're almost the..." he paused, considering his words, then "With the others it was always, oh I like, this thing and this thing, or...that thing and that thing and you just...it's like you're a compilation of all of the traits I'm attracted to made explicitly to torture me." He paused a beat, then "or, at least, that's what it was like before. Now it's..." he hesitated, then "Well, not perfect, but definitely better than my last relationship." 

"Really?" Jon responded, surprised. 

"Yes." Martin confirmed, then "And, no, I am not elaborating." 

Jon huffed a little, then asked "Why do I feel like that's a test?" 

Martin startled and Jon winced. Martin didn't need to say "It wasn't." Jon had already realised.

His reply of "I'm sorry." very nearly came over the top of the confirmation and Martin fell silent. Jon sighed "I...am sorry, Martin. I shouldn't...that wasn't..." 

"No, it's alright." Martin replied. "I'm...mostly surprised you'd care enough to even joke about that." 

Jon blinked. "Why wouldn't I - ?" Martin gave him a look, and Jon amended. "I mean now. Why wouldn't I care that your past relationships were apparently so much worse than me you won't even tell me about them? Not even enough to be momentarily tempted by the fact that I could Make you tell me if I choose?" 

Martin sighed and sat up, pulling away, and Jon hesitated, wondering exactly how wrong he'd gone there. He watched Martin for a moment before Martin replied. "I don't know, it's...the past? It's not...you know, he wasn't anything supernatural or anything. Just a jerk. It's not interesting and I was never -" he paused, then "I mean. I don't see why it'd be of interest to...The Archivist? So I guess I just. Don't get the temptation?" 

Jon shrugged. "It's just...something I don't know." he reached out and took Martin's hand again. "Which is...frustrating on its own, but about a subject I do care about? As much as I do you? It's tempting." 

Martin squeezed his hand and smiled slightly. "I suppose that's good then." he agreed after a moment. "That you care just enough to be tempted but not to actually do it." 

"I do...want to ask one thing." Jon pressed. "I won't...I'll try not to make you. I just -" Martin tilted his head, studying Jon curiously, and Jon found he was struggling more to just get the question out than to keep any power from it. "He didn't...hurt you?" 

Martin lifted his head and met Jon's gaze, and answered with a slight lift in his voice. "No!" he shook his head for emphasis and then, in a moment that Jon found he couldn't breathe through, hesitated. Finally he added "Not...never physically." 

Though the answer was no, the real answer underneath that was enough to make Jon have to fight down a burst of rage. He did so with a long breath, then another. Finally, after a third breath he gave Martin a shaky smile and answered "Well then. I suppose it's best you don't tell me any more about him." 

Martin blinked, then his eyes widened. "Are you seriously implying..." 

"Take that however you will." Jon interrupted, then "Oh! I haven't...been watching the time, at all. I didn't even check when I put the rice in. We'd better..." 

Martin nodded and got to his feet. "We had. At least to check on it." 

Of course it turned out there was no reason to worry. There was still a good amount of broth yet to cook into the rice when they got back to the kitchen. They settled at the table again and, after a moment's thought, Jon re-lit the candle. They talked a little bit more about various things Jon wanted to believe he'd remember every word but the mind doesn't quite work like that. None of it was terribly important. 

Jon didn't blow the candle out again when they returned to the kitchen. Martin laughed as Jon struggled to stir together all of the rice and all of the strained solids from the soup in the medium sized frying pan with the teasing reminder that "I told you it was too much rice." 

"It wouldn't be fried rice at all if I didn't make this much. Look at how much beef I used." Jon pointed out, or perhaps complained. Honestly, there were a lot of places he would like to go back to and smack his past self. A few hours ago when he'd decided to make soup was currently the most appealing. 

Martin chuckled again and commented "I'm more worried about the amount of broccoli!" and Jon groaned deeply. Then Martin reassured "I do like broccoli, don't worry about that but. You'd better hope the girls at work do too because you're not getting them to touch the leftovers if they don't." 

Jon squinted at the pan. "Is it too much broccoli?" 

"I never said too much." Martin corrected. "Just...a worrying amount." 

Jon made a slight frustrated noise. "How is 'a worrying amount' not also 'too much'?" 

It went on like that for a while. Just a few minutes really. A few of those moments included a mutual frustration with internet search engines as even Martin's multiple attempts at searching on his phone failed to answer Jon's question of if fried rice actually required egg or if it was just typical. They concluded that, by the nature of their relationship, some risk-taking was in order, and they didn't add any egg. 

Soon they were back at the table, each with a full plate of fried rice that Martin took several, enthusiastic bites of before either of them said much of anything. Despite every nonverbal signal Jon could read from him loudly proclaiming enjoyment, Jon still felt the need to prompt "Well...?" 

Martin gestured at the plate with his fork. "If takeout places left their meat and vegetable pieces this big in the fried rice, I would have wasted a lot more money on takeout in my life." Jon laughed, and as Martin stabbed something green, a bit of carrot, and a bit of beef with his fork before scooping rice onto it he commented "The broth helps too. I really need to try that too. Broth first." then he took his bite. 

Jon could only smile affectionately at him. It'd been a harder night than he'd wanted. Then he'd expected, really. Looking at Martin now though, lit by the distant glow of the bulb over the stove top and the flickering candlelight between them, Jon knew it had not only been worth it, but for the best. Some essential things had been brought to light, and while maybe not as thoroughly discussed as they required, Jon was certain nothing had happened yet that could destroy them. What they had. 

He turned his attention to his own food with a real smile and started eating. He could properly explain the books next time.


End file.
